The Institute
by OneManParade
Summary: Shadow Hunting Free - Clary is a schizophrenic girl who finds herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. She is forced to spend her summer at a correctional facility for troubled teens. The Institute. Here, you see all the characters from the shadowhunter world in a completely mundane way. Most of them keep their character strengths and flaws, though some are entirely different.
1. Introduction: Clary

There are three things you should know about me. One: I'm a redhead, not the bottle type. A redhead, with orange, flaming spirals that curl halfway down my back. Two: I don't hesitate to act or speak my mind. And three: I'm a schizophrenic, which, in short, means I'm crazy.

My name is Clary Fray, and I am sitting in the back of windowless van, on my way to _The Institute_. My hair is in a tight ponytail at the back of my head and my hands are zip-tied together behind my back. I look to my left at the guy who can't be more than two years older than me. My first thought is that he looks like a hipster Harry Potter. In a band T, tight fitting jeans, and retro. His hands aren't tied. _Of course_, I think, _he didn't resist like I did_.

"I hear they call this place the city of bones." I say, leaning towards him. The guy turns to me and his eyes mirror mine for a second. I wonder if this guy is a head case too.

"Do you believe everything you hear?" His tone is condescending, and I decide, in that moment that I don't like him. Or at least I shouldn't. But when I look him over, I see he's the cute kind of lanky and sadly, he appeals to my personal sense of tall dark and handsome. I decide it's best if I just shake my head in disagreement. I'm not sure I'll be able to speak in this state of realization. Realization that I'm sitting next to _hot_, Harry Potter, forget hipster.

I hear him chuckle and even the heavy sound of his laugh is condescending. I redirect my gaze to the front of the van and observe the winding gravel road.

"The Institute has a lot of names. City of Bones? I don't think that's one of them." Perhaps his voice is perpetually condescending.

I let out a huff of breath, but say nothing. He may be hot Harry Potter, but he is a total tool.

_Jump his bones_. I shudder as the voice booms through my head. _Not now, not here_. I think, or at least, I try to think, but the voice is coming to life. _Don't be such a wimp, Clary. Ask him what his name is. Or do you plan on calling him hot Harry Potter when you scream out in-_

"Shut up, Izzy." I mutter, hoping the lean hottie next to me doesn't hear. When I toss a tentative glance his way, I know I could never be so lucky. He's smirking.

"Izzy?" He asks in mock curiosity. "Who's Izzy?"

"What the hell are you talking about?," I ask, shrugging my shoulders and trying a confused look on my face. The last thing I need at _The Institute_ is for everyone to call me crazy. Sure, sure, _The Institute_ may be an asylum for "at risk" teens, but that doesn't mean they're all bat shit crazy, at least not like me.

"Sure," I hear his reluctance to drop the subject in the ice of his voice, but I don't dwell on it. Izzy is driving me nuts.

_He wants us. Can't you feel the crazy sexual tension? Honestly, what is it with guys and redheads. It's like the ultimate male kryptonite. _

I roll my eyes and will her to shut up.

"Almost there." says a gruff, old voice in the front seat. I can't see the face of the man sitting up there, but I can imagine he's rosy cheeked and wearing a crisp white uniform. I look down at my own clothes. I'm wearing a sea green tank top, black zip up hoodie and my best pair of flared jeans.

They gave me an opportunity to pack all that I could into one suitcase. Of course, I was preparing to run in the opposite direction when I saw the van pull into my mom's apartment complex, so I never packed a suitcase. I did, however, have my backpack, only because I carry it everywhere. If I had known running would get me treated like a criminal and zip tied the moment I resisted, perhaps I would have reconsidered.

Now though, as I look at my only possessions, I know I should have packed suitcase, even if I'd never intended to make it to _The Institute_. At least a blanket or a toothbrush.

_Or a pack of condoms._

"Shut up, Izzy!." I whisper to myself, and then I want to slap my hand against my forehead, because I can hear the rumble of hot Harry Potter's laugh.

"Okay, Carrots, I'm definitely not hearing things. You're talking to somebody." He leans into me and I can smell the sweet scent of whatever detergent he washes his clothes with. "Are you going to the psych ward, Angel?"

_You hear him, don't you, Clary? He's giving us pet names. _I shake my head, back and forth, trying to force Izzy out and to tell hot Harry Potter to keep his mouth shut. I feel, rather than hear him laugh. His closeness is a bit foreign to me, not because I never wanted to be this close to a hot guy, but because my entire youth was spent bouncing around the country with my mom. That is, until the accident.

Four years ago my mother began to homeschool me to keep my insanity private. It would have worked, truly, but about two months ago, I took Izzy's advice to heart and found myself in the principal's office of a prep school in downtown Manhattan, trying to steal answers to tests for a couple boys who offered my $450. It made sense at the time. I was small, they needed someone who wouldn't lead back to them and I wanted the cash. Well, Izzy wanted the cash so we could wear some seriously sexy pumps. I just wanted an adventure.

I got an adventure all right. I got an adventure right down to the police station. The two jerks forgot to mention that there'd be high security and cameras everywhere. I didn't stand a chance. The moment I climbed in through the office window there was a security guard waiting outside the opposing door. I was arrested mere minutes after I broke into the desk, and I never got my $450.

At my court hearing, I was given the choice between community service and coming to _The Institute_ for two months. I guess no one should be surprised that I jumped on _The Institute_ at first. I was drunk with the thought of socializing with actual peers again. Then I heard the rumors about this place, and I decided it was better if I tried to run. Too bad that was anticipated.

"We're here, you two." Says the voice of the burly man who caught me in two strides earlier today. Even without the handlebar moustache, I'm sure his outwards appearance would still scream pedophile. Izzy agrees. I shift in my seat as the van lurches to a stop and I lurch with it since the back seat benches don't seem to have seat belts. Two strong hands grab me by the shoulders before I fall out of the seat and pull me close to a firm body.

"I'm Simon." His touch sends an involuntary shiver up my spine and I can hear Izzy giggling and the contact. Possibly because I'm not used to this kind of contact and it shows on my cheeks, or because she's relishing in it.

"Er," I stammer as the door to my right slides open. "Clary." And with that I'm swept from one man's arms to another's.

"Alright, Miss Fray. Do you promise not to run?" The moustache man driving the car has one of his hands gripped around my upper arm. It makes me feel petite. And feeling small makes me angry.

"No," I say, agitated by the pressure on my arm. "Doesn't matter anyway, does it?" I glance down at the man's hand as he drags me up the stairs to The Institute, which to me looks more like a church than a shelter for troubled teens.

The inside is stone everywhere, and suddenly I feel like I've been shipped to Scotland to tour palaces for my punishment. The stone is yellowing and the air around me is a natural cold that sends shivers down my spine. To my right, Simon walks in carrying an old tattered up suitcase in one hand and a pillow in the other. All I have is my backpack that has been thrown at my feet and the clothes on my back.

"Welcome to the stone house," says a deep, foreboding voice in the distance and I turn to face a man coming from one of the three halls that seem to lead from this front lobby. His hair is a pale blonde, like a light bulb. And his physique makes me uncomfortable. If I thought the man clutching my arm was burly before, I don't think so now. The blonde man looks about as old as my mom. However, unlike my mom, he is handsome and a rough. My mom's delicate and gorgeous, but I just wouldn't put either one in the same league as the other.

"My name is Gregoff Valentine." he begins and the man holding my arm finally relaxes his grip to cut me free from the zip ties then leave. I realize then that I had lost feeling in my fingers. "You will address me as Valentine or Mr. Valentine." he smiles at Simon, but when his eyes slide to me, the curve of his lips straightens into a grimace. _Yikes. _"Am I clear?" I nod instantly, because it is damn clear that this guy is the boss of this place.

"Ms. Fray, you'll be escorted to the women's lavatory. Mr. Lewis, you'll be going to the men's. Wash up and we'll assign you rooms after dinner." As if suddenly bored with our presence, Valentine disappears down the hallway he came.

"We're in some serious shit, aren't we Fray?" asks Simon, who's smiling down at me mischievously.

"Or are you Izzy right now?" I shiver at the insinuation.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I look around the room, partially to look for my escort to the bathroom, partially to keep from making eye contact with Simon. I can hear him chuckling though, and I clench my fist ready to strike.

"Relax, Fray. For all you know, I could really like this 'Izzy' chick." that's it, I think and whirl around to punch Simon square in the jaw when a feminine voice calls out to me. "Until next time, _Izzy_." Simon winks.

I pick the backpack up from my feet and carry it with me towards the woman waiting patiently for my at the far left hallway.

"This way, dear." she says, and she reaches to take my bag from me but I shake my head and throw one more glance at Simon, who's grinning _right at me._ I flip my head back to my escort and smile to mask the fear rising in my throat. _He knows._

_He know and he thinks it's sexy. Why are you raining on my parade here?_

"Shut up, Izzy."


	2. The Lavatory: Simon

I watch as the redheaded girl stomps off after the brunette. I can't help, but chuckle at her ferocity. _She almost hit me._ That girl's got balls. Serious balls, and I think I like her. That realization hits me harder than the first. I like her. How is that possible?

Sure, sure, she's cute and petite, but that's never been my type. I like the girls that can look me in the eyes without standing on their toes. I like long, dark hair, not orange, definitely, not orange. I actually hate that color. Yet here I am staring after an orange haired girl, wondering who in the hell Izzy is.

Most of my other girlfriends were just chicks to mark time with until I met the one. I don't even remember half of their names, but I can tell I'll be up all night with one name in my head. Clary Fray. _Even her name is cute_.

"Simon Lewis?"

I turn to face a guy of about my height, but bulkier, and definitely more attractive. His hair is gold, his skin is a warm tanned color, hell, even his eyes are gold. I hope Clary never lays eyes on him, or I won't stand a chance.

"Yeah?" I ask shifting the pillow under my arm.

"I'm Jace Lightwood, welcome to The Institute, or whatever. Follow me." He turns on his heels, not even waiting for me to follow. Lucky for me, I have long, nimble legs. It's no problem to keep pace with him.

For what feels like hours of traveling down a dark, stinky corridor, I find myself in front of a doorway that leads right into the men's bathroom. From the right perspective, you could see everything that goes on in here.

"Where's the door?" I ask, then I notice there are no doors in the bathroom either. "Where are any of the doors?"

"Wow, you're not as smart as you look." Jace crosses his arms and gives me a onceover that makes me want to puff out my chest to look more masculine. "And you look like a dumbass."

"Hey man, what's your-"

"How thick are you, dude?" Jace asks, and his voice is all venom. "This is just a fancy prison for delinquents. Are you really surprised by the lack of doors, or are you just really bad at small talk?"

My temper flares and I make a fist._ If we're already in a souped up prison, what's the harm in knocking this guy's teeth out?_

"Really, now you want to hit me." Jace sounds amused and he takes a step back, opening his arms and displaying his vulnerability. "Take your best shot, Lewis, I'm begging you."

"Jace, seriously. Why do you always have to mess with the new guy?" A tall, brown haired guy emerges from the shadows. He's lean, like me, but his height makes him intimidating.

"Kyle," Jace bites out and grins at me, not even bothering to look at the other guy, but he does lower his arms. "What are you doing here? Don't you have counseling, lunatic?" Kyle smirks, seemingly unshaken by this.

"Just got out. Who's the new guy?" He walks and stands behind Jace, giving him a glance. He focuses his gaze on my face, and I begin to unclench my fist.

"Simon," I say, and I nod to Kyle, "Simon Lewis".

"Jordan Kyle," he replies, grinning. "But, obviously, I go by Kyle."

Kyle turns to Jace, keeping his cheery expression, but the light fades from his eyes.

"Saw your brother in the circle. Want me to tell you what he said?"Jace frowns and shakes his head.

"Not really, Kyle." he pauses for a moment then continues to verbally assault me. "Why don't you go and take a shower Lewis, or do you need help figuring out the faucet?"

"No," I say and shove past Jace into the exposed bathroom. "I think I've got it."

"Whatever, man. Don't come crying to when you can't figure it out." Jace is trying to push my buttons, but Kyle's presence makes him seem like less of a threat than before.

I drop my bags and pillow beside one of the showers and begin to take off my clothes.

"Eager to get naked are we?" I can hear the laughter in Jace's voice.

"Do you want to join me or something?" I hope that I've smothered his ego with that one. In two seconds my face is slammed against the wall of the shower and cold water spills out over me.

"Was that a gay joke, Lewis?" I hear my glasses strain as Jace pushes my face into the concrete. "Do you think being gay is funny?" I cough out water instead of responding. "Do you!?"

"That's enough, Jace." Kyle calls out and suddenly I feel an absence of pressure on my shoulders. I cough more water and fall out of the shower, shivering wet in my boxers and socks. _Fantastic_, I think, and I straighten my glasses before standing up. I stumble over to the stack of white towels and blot my face dry. _What the hell was that?_

"Sorry," says Kyle walking back into the bathroom. Jace has disappeared. "Jace is a bit…"

"Unhinged?" I offer, but Kyle shakes his head.

"Touchy." I feel like a total douche now.

"Hey man, I didn't know he was gay. What I said," I readjust my glasses trying to find the right words to say. "I didn't mean anything by it." Kyle raises an eyebrow at me. I towel off my torso and walk over to my suitcase to pull out a clean tee shirt.

"He's not gay." my silence must indicate my confusion, because Kyle elaborates. "His brother is."

I slip on my modest mouse shirt and pull out a pair of dark wash jeans. I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything and continue getting dressed.

"Alec is," Kyle begins. "Alec isn't the kind of guy to stand up and fight when he's insulted or mocked. Jace has always defended him. That's why he's here." I nod as I slide on my socks. "And why are you here, Simon?" I look up at Kyle, who wears an expression of curiosity._ Will he laugh if I tell him?_

"I robbed a bookstore." I say, before I can stop myself.

"A bookstore? I can't imagine they have tons of cash on hand, how much did you get?"

"I didn't take money." I say, looking down to put on my shoes, so I won't see the amusement on his face when he figures it out.

"I don't get it, what'd you take?" I straighten up and look at Kyle directly. _He won't laugh at me._

"What do bookstores have aside from money?" I ask with a sigh, knowing I won't be the totally cool, new, bad guy when everyone else hears about this.

"Books." I nod. "You stole books?" I nod again.

"What kind of books?"

_Of all the questions he had to ask..._

"Manga."

**I'm not sure if I like the Simon perspective. Keep or delete?**


	3. Meeting Jon: Clary

I walk quietly behind the woman, whose steps are light as a dove, but I can still hear the click of her heals. Her hair is tied into a tight brown bun, and her clothes are all a cottony white. I try to drink in my surroundings, but all I get is a waft of wet air. The kind of air that makes my hair curl even more than usual.

_God, it smells in here._ Izzy makes her appearance.

_Why did I have to be the crazy girl? _I inwardly ask myself, tugging on the straps of my backpack, and doubling my efforts to stay close to the cotton clad woman as we make our way down the cold, dark corridor.

"This way," says the woman and she points to a very dark door to her left as if it just materialized out of thin air "Come on, love. The women's lavatory is this way."

The old door opens with a creek that shoots lightning up my spine. _Hell no_, says Izzy, _no_ _way are we going in there_. I rub my temple, in fruitless effort to get her to be silent for a single minute.

"Go on." The woman's voice is taking on a tone of annoyance. I step into the warm room and lights flicker on around me. I see ten sinks, ten toilets, and ten showers, but no doors or curtains.

"Um…" I'm not sure I'm going to like getting naked in front of a bunch troubled adolescent girls.

"You're a criminal, Miss Fray, if you thought you'd have the privilege of privacy, you were sorely mistaken." With that the woman turns to point at a pile of neatly folded cottony white towels. "Here are your towels. And please, Miss Fray, do change those ghastly clothes." I look down at the only clothes I'll own for the rest of the summer and tug self-consciously on my black Hanes hoodie.

"I see." says the woman, reading my body language.

"I'll bring you something to wear then, and we'll get those clothes into the wash."

_No doubt they'll be as white as everything else in this place. _Izzy sounds aggravated, but I don't care what we wear. I mean _I_. I don't care what _I_ wear.

"Now hop to, girl, dinner will be at five sharp."

_Five? doesn't that seem a bit early for dinner? _I close my eyes, and nod to the woman, shrugging out of my backpack and hoodie. She disappears and I'm left alone in a bathroom with no stall doors or curtains.

_Okay, if she thinks we're going to take one step into that-_

_ "_Shut up, Izzy." I say and I pull off my tank, turning to the showers.

_Here goes._

"Well, well, well." Says a voice in the shadows. Instinctively, I cover my chest and incline my head towards the noise.

"Who's there?" I ask, not hiding the fear from my voice. I get no answer, but I do hear the voice again. It's masculine.

"If I'd have known there'd be a show, I'd be in the girl's bathroom everyday."

"I'm serious, who's there?" I raise my voice to sound more dangerous, but it comes out more fearful than fearless. A terrifying thought crosses my mind. _What if it's another voice in my head?_

However, before I completely lose my mind, a pale haired boy emerges from the shadows. He bears a strange resemblance to the Warden, Mr. Valentine, but this boy seems darker, edgier, scarier.

"Who were you talking to just now?" His voice is light. I would, at first thought call his voice angelic, but the look in his dark eyes tells me this boy is anything but.

"The woman who escorted me here." I hope he didn't overhear me telling Izzy to shut up. One person knowing my secret is bad enough. Two? I'll be institutionalized for sure. _Um, Clary, _says Izzy, _I don't know how to break this to you, but we have already been institutionalized. _

"Funny," the pale haired guys voice begs my attention. I focus on him, his straight nose, his slim mouth. He's attractive, but the deadly kind. The kind of guy my mom always said my dad was. Not that I'd know, the guy ditched before I was even born, but my mom holds a vengeful torch for him.

"I'm almost certain your escort's name is Amatis." The pale haired guy's eyes gleam as he steps into the artificial light hanging above. I watch as he nears closer.

"I don't know what you're trying to imply here, buddy, but whatever you think you heard. You didn't." I straighten my posture, ignoring the goosebumps that scale up my back and across my arms.

"Your hair suits you, dear." My eyes are drawn to his mouth as it curves upward in a tight smile.

"That was cliché." I say, and I back away, feeling suddenly grateful for the jeans I'm still wearing. Four steps later, I'm backed against a wall and the guy is towering over me. "Um…"

"I'm Jon," he extends his hand and smiles down at me. _Do I take it?_ I wait for Izzy's response, but for once, she's out of my head. Hesitantly, I wrap my left arm tighter around myself and take his hand, his cold, clammy hand. _Gross._

_ "_Clarissa, I mean, Clary." I stammer, trying to let go of his hand after one shake, feeling violated and chilled. Jon's grip is too strong from me to wriggle out of it, so we share a very awkward moment. Then he leans down towards and the urge to scream rises in my throat.

"I think I prefer Clarissa." I can feel Jon's breath on my cheek and I flinch to my left releasing my hand from Jon's grasp, but I also lurch right into the edge of a sink.

"Well," I say in a bit of a sigh, holding back the tears that were summoned by my clumsiness. "I don't ever respond to Clarissa, so if you want to get my attention, you'd better call me Clary."

"But, Clarissa is such a lovely name." Jon steps towards me, but I dodge him.

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before. I go by Clary. Now could you leave so I can take my shower?"

"Never been naked in front of a man?" Jon's eyes are twinkling with curiosity and I can feel my cheeks going crimson.

"Never been naked in front of a _boy._" I say, Izzy would be proud. Or possibly mad that I'm not asking where his room is. I bet I can guess. This guy has crazy written all over him.

"Ouch," Jon laughs. It's not a happy sound, more like the scraping of chairs on a wood floor. "I'll be back for you, Clarissa."

"Yeah, it's Clary." I point to the old, creaky door and watch Jon saunter over to it.

"À bientôt, _Clary_." I shiver as the pale haired guy leaves the lavatory.

_Sheesh he gives me the creeps. _Izzy's voice sounds like a chorus of Angels compared to Jon.

_Where the hell were you? _I think as I shrink out of my jeans. _I was here. _Izzy sounds petrified. _And I wasn't here. It was like the closer he got to you, the less I could get through. _I turn on the water of the shower and let the lukewarm water run down my back and soak my undies. I have a feeling I'll never go completely nude while I'm here, not if I can help it. _That guy is some serious bad news, Clary._ I nod and close my eyes, soaking up the momentary normality.

"Miss Fray," calls a voice behind me, a voice I barely recognize, but at least it's female. "Miss Fray, it doesn't matter how long you sit under the water, it will never be warm." I turn my head to see my escort hold a stack of neatly folded white clothes.

_What did I tell you? Predictable_ says Izzy. I smile and turn back to the water faucet, shutting it off. I get the feeling white uniforms will be the only predictable thing about this place.

**Hey guys. I appreciate the positive feedback. If I get too far out there, don't hesitate to reel me back in.**


	4. Dinner: Clary

**The Dining Hall**

_Clary_

I find myself standing in a dining hall, with high stone ceilings and two rows of rotting wooden bench tables. The smell in the room is a little like mildew, mixed with the sweetness of bread. Pulling at my crisp, cotton white shirt, I take a tentative step forward.

"Ah, Clarissa." Jon's voice rings out and it sends shivers up at down my spine. The direction from which the voice comes is directly behind me.

"Clary?" I turn my gaze to find Simon sitting at the end of a row of benches. He's saved a seat for me. Despite my hesitance to be Simon's comrade, I decide we can, at most, have an alliance. _Safety in numbers, _I think. And I take another tentative step forward.

"You're going to ignore me?" Yes, I am. I am going to pretend he doesn't exist for the next two months. "_Clary_." Jon grumbles like my nickname is laced with toxic acid. I pause mid stride and turn to face him. _Great job ignoring the a-hole, Clary. A+_.

"What do you want, Jon?" I cross my arms and tap my foot to make it clear that I am annoyed by even his breathing.

"I want to offer you a seat at my side this evening. Will you not join me?" I cringe, sitting by Jon is not at the top of my To-Do list. It's not even at the bottom.

"Actually, I thought I'd sit with Simon." I say, as lightly as I can and I turn back around, flipping my carrot red ponytail at him.

"Wrong choice, Clarissa." Jon doesn't follow me, but I take note of the warning ringing in his words. It's not the wrong choice because Simon is not exactly your typical stand up guy. It's a warning that my choice has earned me some one-on-one time with Jon later this evening.

Simon grins as I plop down on the seat next to him.

"Making friends so soon, Fray?" His shoulder bumps mine in a teasing way and I smile up at him. He's not so bad when he's not asking me about Izzy. His brown eyes are so warm that I feel a blush creep up my cheeks and I avert my gaze to the table. "Er, the dining options are chicken potpie and vegetarian lasagna." I look back up to find Simon scratching the bridge of his nose, which in turn makes his glasses crooked. Without thinking I reach up and adjust them, taking both of us by surprise.

"Sorry" I mumble and I glance at the stack of potpies in the center of the table. They don't look appetizing. At least, that was my initial thought, but when I see the vegetarian lasagna, I decide that the potpies are at least cooked. The lasagna looks like soup. "What are you having?" I ask, repressing my urge to lose my stomach.

"Lasagna, I don't eat meat." I raise my eyebrows at Simon.

_So that's why he's so damn lanky._ I wonder why it's taken Izzy until now to pipe up. _That Jon guy_, she says. _He scares the living shit outta me_.

"You and me, both." I say, and then I want bang my head on the table.

"You're a vegetarian? No way!" Shit, now I have to eat that soup stuff. "Or was that Izzy?" I hear a smile in Simon's voice and I reconsider this alliance.

"Would you shut up?" I whisper sternly glaring at Simon.

"Are you talking to me?" Simon is chuckling like this is the most fun he's had in ages.

"Who else would I be talking to?" I spit and I reach for the spoon in the lasagna soup. _You'd better be worth it, Isabelle._ She laughs. I slop the watery substance onto the plastic plate in front of me and try to swallow the clump that has risen in my throat. I lift a hesitant fork. _Here goes_...

"Clary?" I drop the benign eating utensil. I haven't heard that voice in… four years.

_Don't turn around_, urges Izzy, _don't respond to him. _AndI don't have to, because Simon does.

"You guys already met?" He sounds upset, but the voice behind me presses on.

"Clary." The voice is almost sad and I close my eyes to keep the tears at bay. He doesn't deserve my tears or the lurch of my heart as he says my name. He didn't believe me. And that is something that I'll never forgive.

"What's it been? Five years?"

"Four," I mumble. "Five in two weeks." Simon puts an arm on my shoulder.

"Do you want me to get rid of him? It's pretty obvious you don't want him here." I don't respond, not even physically. I just sit there, eyes closed, shivering from silent sobs, and asking myself the silent question: _Why me?_

"Hey, man." Simon begins, turning to face the person behind us, his arm still securely around my shoulder. The familiar voice continues to ignore him.

"Did you do it, Clary?" he implores me. "Did you push my sister off that bridge?"

_Don't listen to him, Clary_. Izzy's voice rings through my head. _It wasn't your fault_. I let out a grief filled sob and Simon's arm tightens around me.

"Clary?" He draws me closer to him and I turn to bury my face in his T-shirt. "What is it with you, man?" Simon asks him, but I have a feeling he will keep pretending that Simon doesn't exist. "Do you have a sick fetish for-"

"Just tell me, Clary." I press tighter into Simon, the voice is closer.

"Hey, back the hell up, man."

"Clary," the familiar sounds less sad and more agitated. "Did you kill my sister?"

"What's going on here?" I pull away from Simon's chest and look across the table at Mr. Valentine. His arms are crossed and he's glancing from Simon and I to the person behind us.

"Nothing." The familiar voice as gone cold, and detached.

"He was harassing Clary, sir." Simon begins.

"Did he touch her?" Mr. Valentine's eyes are fixed on only me now. I want to shrink to the size of a mouse.

"Well, no but-"

"And she's crying? Miss Fray, you will not last in here if you have skin like a peach." I nod, because he's right, but I can't stop the tear that falls from my eye.

"But, Sir-"  
"Quiet, Lewis. And for god's sake, Lightwood, don't you ever get tired of terrifying the new residents?" The question must be rhetorical, because Valentine turns and leaves.

"I'm not done with you, Clary." The voice is more distant now. "This isn't over. I'll get to the bottom of it." I stiffen and that promise and Simon turns around to say something, but I sense he's finally gone, because Simon slowly lets me out of his arms. At this moment, I am grateful for Simon, his comforting eyes, and mostly his silence. My gratitude is short lived when Simon asks me the only question I'm not sure I want to answer.

_He's got our back, Clary_. Izzy encourages and I nod in agreement. Perhaps Simon _is _friend material. He's kept one of my secrets. What's another?

"Hey, you don't have to answer this, but who-"

"Isabelle," I murmur, making circles in my watery sauce with the fork. "Her name is Isabelle."

**Poor Simon keeps getting cut off.**

**Are light bulbs going off for you? Was it too soon? Did you see it coming?**


	5. Izzy: Simon

_Isabelle_. Clary is silent, sliding her fork through the worst excuse for lasagna I've ever seen. _Isabelle_. There's something about that name, something eerie, something sinister. _Isabelle. _Clary said "Her name is Isabelle." But Jace, he made it clear that his sister is dead. Long dead, _five years_ dead. _Isabelle_. _"Her name is Isabelle."_

"What happened to Isabelle?" I don't want to sound like I'm siding with Jace, the biggest prick on the planet, but curiosity is gnawing at my insides. I need to know.

"Didn't you hear any of that? She's dead, Simon. And I was the only one there when it happened." she inhales deeply and puts down her fork. "I'm not very hungry. I'm going to go find my room."

"Clary, wait." I watch as she stands. She doesn't look like the girl I met earlier today. She's pale and fragile and my blood boils when I remember it was that sadistic prick Jace who did this to her. I'll pay him a visit later tonight.

"I'll see you 'round." It's a noncommittal phrase. One I'd give to a girl if I felt she was into me, but I wanted to keep her on the back burner. She puts an awkward hand on my shoulder and I watch as her cheeks take a pinkish hue. "Thanks," I want to shake her, to tell her that this isn't the Clary Fray I thought I'd get the pleasure of knowing. Instead, I nod._ Great job, man. Falling for the pathetic girl with tons of baggage. Real nice, real nice. _

Clary is out of the hall in six quick paces. She may be small, but she is speedy. I turn back to my food. The lasagna has somehow managed to look even less appetizing than it did five minutes ago. I pick up my fork and glance around the table, spotting a curvy caramel skinned girl plopping down in the seat next to Kyle. She's beautiful in that natural beauty way. All her features are soft, and her smile is equally soft. I feel a strange gravitation towards her, until I see Kyle giving me a very questioning look. Something tells me that I don't want to get on his bad side. Yet, on the other hand… I could use a distraction from my strange attraction to Clary Fray, the girl who is my complete opposite and who got my heart to race just by adjusting my glasses. _God, I need some serious help._

I pick up Clary's plate, then my own and I carry them to the waste can. It appears I've gone from potential fling to bitch in a matter of hours. _How'd did I get roped into throwing her trash away?_

"Lewis" Jace's voice is music to my ears. He'll be the perfect distraction. _Mess with my girl, mess with me_. Except, she's not my girl, and beating up Jace might give her the wrong impressions. _What do you care, man? She's bad news_. True, true, but there's something about her. _The fact that she's not into you, probably. _I agree with myself, when a chick shows little to no interest in, I accept it as a silent challenge. I'm Simon Freaking Lewis. They named tall dark and handsome after me, or possibly Kyle…

"Do you enjoy socializing with murderers?" God, I wish the guy would shut up already. I dump the trash and turn around.

"Do you really think she killed Isabelle?"

"You don't? Why?" Jace grins, but it's unsettling. He's definitely unhinged, no matter what Kyle says. "Her pretty green eyes convince you she's innocent?" The fact that Jace knows her eyes or green sets me off.

"Shut up, man." I am so tired of this ass cornering me and yelling at me. "From what I know of Clary-"

"You don't know Clary." I am so tired of being interrupted! I continue, ignore his outburst

"She couldn't have killed Isabelle."

"Don't talk about Izzy like you knew her." My heart stops, and Jace looks satisfied that I'm momentarily stunned.

"What did you just call her?"

"I told you not to talk about her!" Before I can do anything, Jace has planted a fist right into my shoulder. It hurts, but I press on.

"Dammit Jace. What did- _Unf_" Jace hits me again, in the stomach. I double over. "Asshole."  
"You'd stay away from Clary, if you knew what was good for you." Jace leans towards me. "However, we both know that you're a grade A dumbass." I grunt a response, but it doesn't matter. Jace is gone, replaced by Kyle.

"Hey, man, listen. Jace-"

"Save your breath, Kyle. You can defend the prick all you like. It won't change my opinion."

"And what's that."

"Jace Lightwood is a serious head case." I groan.

_And so is Clary Fray._

**Sorry it's so short. I've hit a bit of a writer's block. Still not sure if I like the Simon Perspective, but if you do, I'll keep him in the picture. X.O. and Happy Holidays!_  
_**


	6. More White: Clary

I don't pay attention which way I'm going as I storm out of the cafeteria. _Five years_. Five years since I've seen Jace. His warm golden eyes that used to shine with love and understanding turned to stone on that cold October night.

_Halloween, right?_

"Not now, Izzy." I'm not sure I'm in the mood to relive that night. Or, at least, relieve the parts that I can remember.

"Izzy?" A cold voice echoes from the shadows and I shrink to a lamp hanging on a wall.

"Jon?" I hate that I can already recognize his voice.

"Tell me, my dear." A pale haired boy steps out of the shadows, he's skinny, like Simon, but his body is rippling with muscles. I give an involuntary shiver, but it is not unconscious. "Who is this Izzy? Is she a ghost, Clarissa?" He smirks. "Are you a medium?"

"A medium?" I scoff. "You think I can speak with the dead?" Jon shakes his head, letting white-yellow hair glisten in the glow of the hallway light. He looks less severe in this light, less deadly. Which in some ironic way makes him more so. I'm not fooled. He is the type to snap. I can see it in his impossibly dark eyes. Eyes that haven't seen happiness in a long time. Eyes that remind me of my own.

"We are not discussing what I believe, Clarissa." I tuck my arms around myself, feeling a slight chill. "Do you believe you are a medium? That you can speak to the dead? Or are you a maniac? A girl who lurks in dark corridors talking to herself."

Without thinking I have a fist raised and aimed at his right eye. _Hope you're ready to bruise that pretty face, buddy._ In an instant my tiny fist is engulfed and a larger, colder one. Jon tsks.

"Clarissa." I hate the way he hisses my name. "Did I strike a nerve?" I shake my head.

"No." I don't sound convincing. "You should never make fun of mental illness." Wow I sound like I'm coming out of one of the Commercials. All I need to say is "The more you know" and cue the cheery music.

"You sound like one of those group guys." Jon laughs.

"Group guys?"

"Yes, Clarissa. If you're deemed mentally unstable, they send you to group twice a week." That doesn't sound so bad. "If you're found insane, they'll take you to the psych ward." And that's why I keep Izzy quiet, speaking of whom…

"Jon?" I melodic, feminine voice sounds from down the corridor. "Jon what are you doing so close to the girls dormitories?"

"Making sure that Clary didn't get lost. She's here now."

Yes, thanks. I can see that." A girl with dark olive skin walks up and puts an arm on my shoulder and I watch Jon turn around and head back to… wherever he was planning on going before he saw me.

"Damn, you are tiny. What'd you do? No, let me guess. You're a thief, aren't you? Tiny thing like you. You'd come in handy in my old crew." I don't think I can actually get a word in, so I just nod.

"Wicked." She turns me around and walks me to a hall lined with doors. "I'm Maia. I'm here for beating up a couple pretty boys. You know, Jon types, think they can do what they want as long as they smile all nice and shrug off the blame." She shakes her head. "Yeah, not on my watch. I should be here for more you know. But, my crew, we were good." Wow, I haven't said one word. This girl reminds me of Izzy. All talk.

_I'm not all talk_. Izzy sounds affronted, and it makes me chuckle. Luckily, Maia thinks I'm laughing with her.

"Yes, ma'am, we were slick. When you get out, you should look me up. We could use a tiny thing like you." She stops in front of a door that reads 1_9.

"Uh," I stare at the door. "What's my room number?" Maia looks at my door and shrugs then looks at the door beside it.

"If I had to guess, 109, but who knows. They really like to screw with us here. Why don't you go in your room? If your parents love you, they sprang for a TV in your room." I reach for the tarnished handle and shove open the door. My room is a lackluster grey with a bleach white twin bed and pillows along with white carpet and white blinds on the window that is ominously barred. I don't see a TV. I wasn't expecting one.

Maia stands in the doorway of my room, staring where the TV should be.

"I don't have one either." She tugs on one of her impossibly curly strands of hair and I smile. Our hair is almost identical in texture. This is a first for me. I extend my hand.

"My name's Clarissa Fray, but, you can call my Clary. It's nice to meet you." Maia looks as if she's about to laugh, but she takes my hand.

"I like you, Clary. You're weird." That makes me cringe. "Hey, weird is good. Better than psycho, am I right?" That makes me cringe inwardly.

"Yeah, absolutely." I wink.

_Wow, Clary. Don't be suspicious or anything._

_Why are you always in my head, Izzy?_

_Why don't you snuff me out?_

**Answers to question like things in the reviews:**

**Just to be clear, Clary is schizophrenic. Isabelle is a voice in her head. However, you (and Clary) are going on a journey to discover how Izzy got there (in Clary's head) and how to get her out... metaphorically. When Izzy's out of Clary's head, she doesn't reappear somewhere. **

**Simon is attracted to Clary, if you don't know why, it's ok. I don't think Simon quite gets it yet either. He will. Eventually. **

**_Did Clary kill Isabelle?_ I don't know. Did she? You know her as well as Simon does (better, really). Do you think she did? Do you hope she did ****?****(you dark demon... **I like you**)**

**Question I repeatedly ask myself: Why is Jon such a creep? Good question. "He's Jon Freaking Morgenstern" is my answer.**

**Questions for you:**

**Who do you want in the story? Is the plot going nowhere? Are these characters believable? **


	7. A friend in the Shadows: Simon

"Why is it that everytime time I see Clarissa you're always trailing after her like a sad little mutt?"

"I'm sorry, who are you?" I readjust my glasses and drink in the guy who looks a bit too much like prison king, Valentine, for my taste. I wonder if they're related.

"No one of your concern. And really." He pauses to sum me up and snarls, he actually snarls. "There are plenty of other, what do you kids call them these days? Fish?" he laughs either at me or his snide comment, I can't really tell which. "There are plenty of other _fish_ in the sea, why don't you go play with one. and not _Clary_." The way he says "Clary" is like the word is strychnine and he's spitting it out.

"Again, who are you?" I don't get a response, and I want to pull out my hair. This guy almost takes the cake for crazy at this place. I'm almost too curious what he did to get in here. Did I not get the memo about the guys at The Institute? Or does Clary just attract the crazy type? _Oh, hell. Wait a minute. What does that say about me. Wait, wait, hold on. I'm supposed to be denying my attraction to the cute ginger girl with a temper. _

"Is it true that you're here for robbing a library?"

"It was a bookstore." I mutter, feeling lame and nerdy. "There's a difference."

"Right, yes, of course. How _stupid_ of me to confuse the two. You know," The pale haired guy smiles in a way that makes my stomach flip, sending the few bites of that vegetarian lasagna up my esophagus. "You could have bypassed the whole robbery thing if you'd just gone to the library." He smile spreads to his eyes that are as dark and dim as these halls. He might also be the scariest guy here. "You know they let poor people take books for free?"

I didn't even realize I'd struck until my hand was being crushed in the hand of Valentine's younger doppelganger. His strength is surprising, since he's not much bigger than me. Of course, I don't workout, I'm not even sure if _benchpress _is one word or two, let alone what it means exactly. So, my surprise fades as my knuckles pop from the pressure of his grip.

"Stay away from Clarissa, leech," he spits into my face then lets go of my hand, leaving a dumb tingling sensation in his wake as he walks away. I stare after him, dumbfounded and annoyed.

"What a jerk." I wipe the spit off my cheek and shake my head. I can't believe I've only been here a day and already I'm buried up to my ears in crazy.

"He's not normally so extroverted." Says Kyle's familiar voice coming up beside me. "Something's drawn him out of his coffin." I chuckle, thinking about the light haired guys unreasonably sharp teeth and pale complexion. Turning to Kyle I see him standing in a plain crew neck T and black jeans. He's the type of guy I'd hang with at home. Not because of his clothes, but because he's so relaxed and nice.

"Who was that anyway?" I ask, readjusting my glasses.

"Jon. Best not to get on his bad side, he's Valentine's nephew." _I knew it._

"I can see the family resemblance." I shove my hands in my pockets and continue walking down the dark hall.

"Need a guide to the dorm?"

"More like a bodyguard." I admit and Kyle laughs.

"Don't worry, with me by your side, no one will mess with you." Kyle falls into to step with me and a comfortable silence settles over us. I feel so much more at peace knowing I'll have a friend in this dump.

**Hi! I would like to announce that Magnus and Alec are going to make their debut appearance really soon. You should be meeting them in the next Simon Chapter (Possibly sooner. Still editing)! Yeah, I'm pretty excited for you to meet them. **

**À bientôt!**


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